Chapter Eleven Harrison
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HARRISON
Practice wraps, but nobody is acting like it.
Instead of heading off the ice, the guys stay out for “one more round” of cool-down drills, which in their language means piss off Harrison as much as possible while pretending to work on passing accuracy.
Oliver flicks a puck toward me as I skate backward, lining up a transition drill. It’s not a real shot, more like a lazy slide with malicious intent.
“So,” Oliver calls, grin wide, “your family coming today?”
The puck taps my stick. I redirect it without looking at him.
“They’re not my family,” I say, but the denial sounds thin even to my own ears.
Which means the feeding frenzy officially begins.
“Ohhhh,” Griffin crows from the red line, “he didn’t deny they’re coming. Just denied the family part.”
“That means yes,” Bodhi adds. “Definitely yes.”
August skates up beside me and shoulder-bumps me lightly. “Man’s already practicing his dad voice. I heard him earlier.” He clears his throat and deepens his voice, impersonating me when he says, “Connor, bud, great hustle today! Make sure to hydrate and do your homework!”
“I don’t sound like that,” I mutter.
“You one hundred percent do,” Ledger says, flipping a puck up and catching it on the blade of his stick. “It’s adorable, actually.”
Barrett taps his stick twice on the ice. “As the team’s actual parental figure—”
“You’re not a parental figure,” Griffin interrupts.
“You have a cat named Killer,” Bodhi adds.
“That weighs four pounds,” August finishes.
Barrett shrugs. “The point is, I’m prepared to be the cool uncle.”
Jesus.
I skate away from them, pretending to stretch out my legs near the boards but they follow like persistent mosquitoes.
Mosquitoes I can’t smack to death.
Mosquitoes that never seem to fly into the electric bug zapper.
“This is a lot of energy for grown men,” I say.
Oliver snorts. “We’re hockey players, dude. Emotionally we’re twelve, remember?”
“Not even twelve,” Bodhi says. “More like…nine.”
“Speak for yourself.” Ledger leans on his stick. “I’m at least eleven.”
I rub a hand over my face. They are absolutely insufferable, but beneath the chaos, the teasing, the bullshit, they’re doing what they always do.
They’re trying to make a hard moment easier because they all know me better than I know myself.
They know Connor is my kid.
They know learning he’s my son cracked me open in ways I didn’t expect.
They know I want to try to be the best dad I can be for him and
They also know Connor doesn’t know about me just yet.
And so, they know today matters.
It matters a lot to me.
I swallow hard and release a heavy sigh that I can’t disguise as exhaustion from practice.
“Hey, relax, bro,” August says, softer now. “He’s a good kid. And you’re gonna be great with him.”
I nod, unable to say it out loud, because if I do, I might start feeling too much too fast. We finally clear the ice, drifting toward the gate and the guys peel off, heading toward the tunnel, chattering and laughing. Barrett slings an arm around my shoulders as he passes.
“You’ve got this, Meers. And if you don’t, Killer and I will be here to guide you.”
I shove his shoulder and he skates away grinning.
For the first time today, the arena quiets as I gather a handful of practice pucks and set them near the boards, more for something to do with my hands than because Connor will need them. Really, I’m just killing time.
And nerves.
Because in a few minutes, Harper and Connor will walk through that tunnel and they’ll be here specifically to see me.
Connor, the kid who looks like me.
Skates like me.
Harper, the woman who once loved me.
The woman who still affects me way too damn much.
I bend to set down the last puck and then I feel it.
Movement.
I turn to the left and see a small figure pressing his hands to the glass, eyes wide.
Connor.
And behind him…Harper.
My chest tightens a lot more than I anticipated. Connor waves enthusiastically and then smacks the glass. “Coach Harrison!”
From behind him, Harper gives a small, almost shy smile. The kind that takes the wind out of me in one clean blow. I lift my hand in return. Connor beams and Harper’s eyes soften and hell if something in me doesn’t shift, painfully…hopefully.
The teasing is gone.
The doubt quiets.
The ache steadies.
Because this—seeing them here, walking toward my world—feels like the beginning of something I’ve been wanting my whole life but never thought I would have. Something I’m finally brave enough to want again.
“Hey, buddy!” I call out, the words spilling from my lips before I realize how natural it feels.
He leans closer, eyes sparkling with that childlike joy that makes the world seem brighter. “Coach Harrison! Look at me!”
He waddles his way from the glass over to the open gate and I huff a soft laugh realizing he’s already in his skates.
What takes my breath away is the jersey he’s wearing.
It’s not the same one he wore for Pucks how good it feels to have our lives intertwine again, even if it’s just for a moment on the ice.
“Okay, now we’re gonna add a spin. Watch closely.”
I shift my weight on the ice, feeling the cool air whip past me as I demonstrate the spin. It’s my favorite move, one I perfected over years of practice and countless hours spent repeating the motion until it became second nature.